The Hula Hoop Lady in the Park

There's a woman in our city park who hula hoops every Sunday afternoon. She's in her sixties, wears bright leggings and brings a dozen hoops in every color, some with lights inside.

The first time I saw her, I just stood and watched. She spun hoops around her waist, her arms, her neck and even one leg, all at the same time, while music played from a little speaker on the grass.

Kids gather around her, and she hands them hoops. Then the parents get pulled in. Then the grandparents. Last Sunday, I counted thirty-one people of every age hula hooping on the lawn, most of them terribly. A man in a business suit lasted about two seconds. A toddler kept hers going for a full minute.

When I asked what got her started, she told me it began after she retired, when the days felt long and quiet. "Now my Sundays are the loudest day of the week," she said. She handed me a purple hoop. I'm getting better.